


Praise God, That Sick Bastard

by spelling_error



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Catholic Steve Rogers, Civil War (Marvel), Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Non-Linear Narrative, Not A Fix-It, Song Lyrics, Songfic, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, civil war angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:28:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25945105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spelling_error/pseuds/spelling_error
Summary: Tony closes his eyes and see’s that shield fall.That perfectly balanced, perfectly curved piece of metal. Symbolic of freedom. Symbolic of a country, and values, and a time that doesn’t exist to anyone except the star spangled man who wields it.He feels disappointed, because for a moment there, Steve wasn’t the only one who believed in the symbol of that shield.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 47





	Praise God, That Sick Bastard

**Author's Note:**

> I found this at the end of another fic in my documents and it's sad.

_Well I've heard there was a secret chord_

_That David played and it pleased the Lord_

_But you don't really care for music, do you?_

_Well it goes like this:_

_The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift_

_The baffled king composing Hallelujah._

******

“Come on, Cap,” Tony smiles, “This is Nirvana, it’s practically a classic at this point,” the genius waves a screwdriver at the wincing man.

“Not any classic I’ve ever heard,” Steve says with a closed off, pinched expression.

Tony is doing him a favour, fixing the splitting strap of his shield for him. Steve’s too polite to just drop it off and leave like he does when it’s SHIELD that’s working on it.

Tony is a teammate now. He owes it to stick around.

The obligation that is keeping Steve in Tony’s workshop is obvious though. Tony just tries his best to keep the awkwardness a little less palpable.

Tony’s face turns considering, “Alright, classic, I can do classic,” he says, “Jarvis, play Hallelujah for our choir boy, won’t you?”.

Steve offers a small smile at the beginnings of the soft guitar intro. It’s tense, that smile, and it doesn’t take a PhD to see that.

To see how badly Steve doesn’t want to be here.

Whether _here_ is the workshop, or the twenty-first century, neither of them are sure.

The song doesn’t proceed into the second verse before Tony turns away, “Actually Jay, mute,” he says, “Forgot, song’s actually about blasphemy, who’d have figured?” he laughs.

The tension doesn’t fade with silence either.

It still doesn’t fade when Steve leaves, but Tony only has himself to blame for that.

“God damn it,” he curses under his breath.

******

_Well your faith was strong but you needed proof_

_You saw her bathing on the roof_

_Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew ya_

_She tied you to her kitchen chair_

_She broke your throne and she cut your hair_

_And from your lips she drew a Hallelujah._

******

“Communal showers,” Steve says, shaking his head ruefully, “Some things haven’t changed,” he chuckles.

“Obviously, how else am I going to sneak a peak at the goods,” Tony winks on his way by.

It’s not Tony who sneaks a peak. At least, it’s not Tony who gets caught.

Tony flirts like Natasha flirts. Without restraint or discrimination. Tony flirts in a way that would get him jailed or worse back in Steve’s day.

Tony flirts and it feels more like a temptation when he meets Steve’s eye in the showers.

Steve does not flirt.

But he looks, and they both know that he looks.

Steve looks in a way that would see him in confession on Sunday if he knew that it would help. Unfortunately, Steve knows that no number of hail Mary’s will purify his thoughts. Or stop his sketchbooks from filling with images of Tony’s profile.

“There’s only one God, ma’am,” Steve had said once.

When Steve first arrived in the twenty first century, he went to church every Sunday like he always had before.

Steve doesn’t go to church anymore. Not since New York. Not since he started staying at the Tower when he was in the city.

Not that Tony’s ever seen, at least.

Instead, Steve looks.

And draws.

And thinks.

And lets words fall from his lips when he’s alone in his room, in his bed. Words that should be damning, but instead feel the opposite.

“Oh god,” escapes Steve’s clenched teeth, “ _Tony_ ”.

******

_But baby I've been here before_

_I've seen this room and I've walked this floor_

_You know, I used to live alone before I knew ya_

_And I've seen your flag on the marble arch_

_And love is not a victory march_

_It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah._

******

“I don’t like the idea of you rattling around a mansion by yourself”

Tony reads the letter aloud into the empty compound.

Tony has always been by himself, though. He lived alone, slept alone, worked alone. All since Afghanistan.

He watches from a screen in the desolate compound as the Stark Industries logo is re-installed to the New York tower.

There is no mansion to rattle around in. At least, there’s only part of it still standing.

“I don’t like the idea of you rattling around a mansion by yourself,” he reads again.

And then, “Friday, call Pepper”.

They both know he’s lying when he makes all the promises she needs to hear to come back to him.

Both know that their breakup had little to do with Iron Man and more to do with the Avengers. One Avenger in particular.

Tony closes his eyes and see’s that shield fall.

That perfectly balanced, perfectly curved piece of metal. Symbolic of freedom. Symbolic of a country, and values, and a time that doesn’t exist to anyone except the star spangled man who wields it.

Tony closes his eyes and hears his own words, “Okay—case closed. I win,” spoken clipped and sharp.

And he did.

Tony walks down the sidewalk a free man with a black eye and broken ribs to show for it.

Steve disappears a fugitive in a baseball cap and a straggly beard.

Tony won, and yet he was not the victor. He doesn’t think there was one.

“You’re a god damn idiot, Stark,” he whispers to himself.

******

_Well there was a time when you let me know_

_What's really going on below_

_But now you never show that to me do ya_

_But remember when I moved in you_

_And the holy dove was moving too_

_And every breath we drew was Hallelujah._

******

“You alright?” Tony asked once in simpler times.

“I’m home” Steve had replied, knowing neither could tell if that was a good thing or not.

Steve remembers that looking at Tony never felt as wrong as it should. Not when Tony’s flirting was temptation incarnate. When _Tony_ was temptation incarnate.

He thinks maybe kissing him would feel wrong, but it doesn’t feel that way either.

Nothing does.

“Jesus fuck, Steve,” Tony pants.

Steve’s expression is pinched, to say the least, but his mouth quirks up just a little, “Language,” he says on a slow exhale.

Tony groans, “No, you’re not aloud to make jokes while my dick is in you, Steve,” Tony says tightly with the effort of staying still, “Hurts my ego”.

Steve leans up to capture Tony’s lips, and when they pull away, Tony hovering above Steve, their bodies connected, Tony rests his forehead to Steve’s and breathes raggedly.

“You feel incredible, Tony,” Steve whispers.

Tony moves slowly, pulling out and slowly back in, “Yeah?” he rasps.

“God yes,” Steve pants.

Steve remembers a lot of things.

“If we call Tony…” but it didn’t matter, “We’re on our own”.

******

_Maybe there's a God above_

_But all I've ever learned from love_

_Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya_

_And it's not a cry that you hear at night_

_It's not somebody who's seen the light_

_It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah._

******

“Don’t bullshit me. Did you know?”

“Yes”.

Tony see’s red.

He feels grief. Anger. Sadness.

Betrayal.

And rejection.

Steve wields a weapon far stronger than the shield, Tony thinks.

“He’s my friend!”

“So was I”.

It cuts deep in his chest, tears him up inside. Turns his blood to ice in his veins. Burns him at the same time.

Tony doesn’t feel the blows that Steve lands.

But he feels pain all the same.

He deals pain in turn.

Cuts Steve in a way that will never heal. Steve has to wonder if the wounds he feels from Tony aren’t just self inflicted. Maybe Tony just picked the scabs instead of dealing the damage himself.

Tony lies in the freezing Siberian bunker.

He feels _disappointed_ , because for a moment there, Steve wasn’t the only one who believed in the symbol of that shield.

Yeah, _disappointed_.

That’s what he feels.

“God damn it, Rogers,” he breathes, hitched and broken with pain both real and imagined into a cloud of mist.

******

_Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah_

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written Stony that doesn't hurt.


End file.
